


A new moment

by imladrissun



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 15:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imladrissun/pseuds/imladrissun
Summary: Castiel and Crowley start to have a new type of acquaintance with each other. They're both interested in the idea of it.





	A new moment

**Author's Note:**

> This is an early AU in the sense that this story looks at the C/C relationship very differently from the show -- I think to maintain a successful tv show there is always going to be some manufactured tension, melodrama, repetition, characters not learning etc. 
> 
> I like the idea of the early seasons version of Castiel slowly learning what humans are like and who/what he wants to be, almost unconsciously. Crowley is a character with so much potential, especially in that he seems to often want power for its security, or to come out on top for safety and insurance instead of just mindless evil/cruelty reasons. 
> 
> He's so urbane and saves Castiel during the s12e12 'Stuck in the middle with you' episode, it really pointed towards new possibilities for the two of them. Also, the show often has Castiel not really push back against how he's treated by the brothers, and I feel like it doesn't really explore the why/consequences of that. I think that the C/C dynamic could have really been a great one to explore, as it would naturally include C & C talking about the brothers. In addition, I like to think Jimmy is Castiel's best bro in heaven when he goes upstairs for a little rest once in a while.

He had finally won hell with no challengers extant, and while not one to rest on his laurels, Crowley was enjoying his current victory -- no one was currently plotting, scheming or trying to usurp his position as ruler of hell. It felt like being at loose ends though, he thought, frowning. Wasn't victory supposed to be the best luxury? The source of the highest exultation? He sat in a perfectly comfortable chair, drinking very expensive liquor, and felt no pleasure at all. While he appreciated hedonism in moderation, luxuries were just another routine thing at this point.

He was bored. 

He'd put so much work into digitizing and creating an efficient bureaucracy in hell that it no longer required him to obsessively monitor every cog and office worker. Not that there were many. Crowley took himself out of his office in hell and reappeared in one of his vacation homes [they were like metaphorical pied-à-terres away from the underworld, except of course they were huge.]

This particular home was in Wales, out in the deserted rural countryside; he'd bought it on a whim. The landscape was amazing, that was his official excuse, not that anyone ever asked. Or that he had any actual friends, to be honest. The enormous house was one he'd bought centuries ago -- it was basically an excuse to buy more books, as most of the rooms had extensive bookshelves. Of course, it was rainy and grey out, but one expected that when one was within Great Britain. He poured himself a drink in the study and tried to pick a book to peruse. Immortality was actually filled with long dull stretches, if you were honest about it. Crowley had never anticipated that.

He found his thoughts drifting to the angel, something that had become a trend. Castiel was distrustful of him, when he even noticed him, but their acquaintance had become less frosty after he'd broken Michael's spear. Of course, he'd gotten no thank you from him directly, but he did get quite a few long stares.

He was okay with that, as it was a beginning--something he could work with. He had found himself contemplating involving Castiel in some of his plans only to always rationalize his way out of it at the last minute. There was no need to involve a random angel, and he could handle things himself; and yet. He did want to reach out to him somehow. 

He'd had a bit of a revelation after realizing the angel's life could be over just like that. Who would he share looks with when Squirrel rambled on in a slightly rude tone? Who would argue with him when he just wanted to talk [obviously that necessitated him making up some flamboyantly 'evil' nonsense to get a response.] 

Admittedly, they didn't seem to share much in common; the angel didn't seem to care for drink, sartorial elegance, or too much of earth at all. The mortal world had so many incredible things, but their import was lost on Castiel. Pleasure was lost on him, he thought. 

It was somehow sad to think, that his only enjoyment came from doing whatever he thought his 'duty as a free willed angel' was [a phrase he'd heard him use before], and hanging out with those little idiots. What a waste.

Though... what would he do with the angel if he had his attention? In a non-threatening way, of course. If they had to do an interdepartmental office get together, just the two of them. Crowley couldn't imagine him actually spending time with him in a low key, social way, but it might be nice. His tumbler of scotch sat untouched as he contemplated it. At least the angel had seen he was on his side, in the 'I don't want to live on in a place without you' way. 

He did have a tendency to react very kneejerk-ly to Crowley, though. 

For the most part he just spied on the three of them. It was like watching television, except the mortals amused him and the angel interested him. Moose and Squirrel were discussing something about heaven intently when he next tuned in -- they barely paid Castiel the respect he was due. Hadn't he saved their sorry arses time after time? He was appalled. 

They wanted to contact a Jimmy, in the holy locale, it seemed. And suddenly, he had a thought. They meant the mortal that Castiel knew; he had a special relationship with him. He must have spent time with him in heaven, Crowley thought with a start -- the boys had mentioned that Jimmy was his only friend [almost as an insult, not that Castiel appeared to take it that way or care] before. 

Who would know him better? The Winchesters acted like he was their lackey half the time, they clearly didn't listen to him or value him. They wouldn't know anything personal about him. But this Jimmy might. He might know a great deal. 

Crowley bolted out of his seat and rushed to the room his kept stocked with supplies of the magical sort. It wasn't well known, but John Dee type nonsense could work for souls in heaven, not just angels. It was celestial facetime. [It required the blood of a pure white dog, beeswax and other strangely mundane things.] 

A real angelic being could go to earth directly, so they had little use for the whole thing, but a mortal soul in heaven wasn't able to leave like that. They didn't have that kind of power, as far as Crowley knew at least. 

And so he rang him up. Jimmy actually picked up right away, to his surprise. Behind him on the wall there was a framed palm leaf... one of the markers of a saint. His hair was a little messy, and he had on a soft grey t-shirt; he looked rumpled and like a little bunny. Like the most unthreatening thing the universe could produce. Crowley felt his nervousness decimated in the face of worry -- what if it hadn't been him? Another demon would mean evil upon any holy person. "You can't just pick up like that," he told him forcefully. 

Jimmy was surprised at his tone, that much was clear from his face. "But--" he started, and Crowley felt compelled to break in. It was weird seeing a Castiel [-like looking person, really] that was so relaxed and innocent looking. 

"I could have been anyone, wanting anything, and you just answer? Just like that?" He shook his head. "No, that's not what you do. You need to--"

Jimmy waved a hand at him in a very non-Castiel-like gesture. It was a little disconcerting, but it was nice to look at him all the same. Here was a kind of Castiel that didn't have that distant, firm look on his face all the time. But of course this wasn't him at all. It was hard to keep the feeling from spilling over, though. 

"I have call screening," Jimmy protested. Well, more like assured him helpfully. He wasn't someone who seemed like he could pull off a host of demeanors, starting with protest. "I knew it was you. And, I know who you are. You're Castiel's best friend; almost his only friend, even if you count those hunter guys."

Crowley had to play that back in his head a few times... and still didn't get how he could say that. No one would say that. Not even him, and he would have liked to be able to, if only for the companionship. It would have been nice to have a compatriot, an ear. A shoulder to lean on, once in a while.

In lieu of the lengthening silence from his end, Jimmy continued. "He talks about you all the time; I feel like I almost know you. That must sound weird, I know." He almost looked abashed, yet tranquil still.

It was probably hard to be anything but, if you were a dead mortal in heaven, he thought. 

Crowley couldn't do it, couldn't talk to him, all at once. It was like seeing some alternative universe version of how he'd secretly daydreamed things could have been, if only in his imaginings. And here it was, a sweet and gentle doppelganger. Of course, it wasn't the real Castiel. 

This was just a dead mortal in heaven. "It's okay," Jimmy assured him, his prescience almost eerie; but his tone was naturally soothing, so placid. "He didn't tell me anything personal, just general stuff. I asked him about you, since he mentioned you all the time. He said you were the only one he could count on once, so I wondered about you."

Crowley nodded dumbly. He felt distanced from his own physical -- and metaphysical -- self. 

"Are you looking for him?" Jimmy said. "I can take a message; he's not here as far as I know; I mean, he hasn't stopped by to see me today, so I'm assuming no."

"Thanks, no. I have to go," Crowley forced himself to say. It came out in an emotionless, weird rush. He sat there in front of the runes and rushes silently in the now dark room. His heart was pounding, he realized. There was no reason Castiel would lie to his little saint friend. Not that the angel was good at dissembling anyway.

Unfortunately for him, the heavenly grapevine worked as fast as a prayer. Castiel himself appeared in his rooms that very day. And he was gripped by fear to see him. This wasn't about violence or power or earth... this was about something that was only Castiel's. It was personal. 

Crowley jumped, sloshing the drink he'd been holding for hours still untouched all over himself. He was barely conscious of that fact. With the angel actual here in front of him, in the flesh, it occurred to him that he might be seen as a threat for calling on the angel's pet mortal. And a holy one at that. 

Upstairs didn't really go for that sort of thing, the whole mixing idea. Even the angels' few children had been destroyed by the creator Himself. "I have spoken to Chuck," Castiel announced. He had a way of speaking like a herald instead of a conversationalist. 

"Oh?" It was all Crowley could come up with. He sat there, spilled drink everywhere. It seemed unreal to be there, and yet, it was happening. 

Castiel looked away, out towards the windows. He was wearing his usual coat, and looked mentally unruffled. As much as anyone could tell, of course; he was very unreadable. 

"The Lord has told me that it is well for you to speak to my mortal in paradise, if it be his will." Crowley's mouth just barely came open. This had not been what he'd expected to happen at all. "And so it is my will as well."

He had to blink at that. "Come on, angel, you're talking to me here. You don't need to pretend. If you don't want it, it won't happen, got it?" Castiel tipped his head a little and contemplated him. He'd never liked that look. 

"I am not speaking in subservience; you may speak to my saint," he said. "Do not ask him of me, however, so you will not appear suspicious to any of those above." Crowley nodded. "You may ask me about myself instead." That, he hadn't been expecting. 

"No problem," he found himself saying.

Oddly, Castiel simply stood there and they existed in silence together. Crowley hadn't even gotten up from his chair. He finally moved his head to a different angle and said, "Then I will take my leave of you."

But it didn't sound decisive, it sounded hesitant. Not questioning, but not definitive. Crowley leant forward to say something, anything, but couldn't think. Nothing came to mind. And time was ticking on, he had to say something before Castiel left... "What is he like? Your friend; now, I mean. Upstairs." It wasn't a strong opener, but Castiel looked interested, or suprised. You could never tell. 

He sat down in the chair across from him. "He is very enjoyable to be friends with," Castiel began. "He has tried many earthly activities there with me. I don't always understand what they are about," he looked away. Was he embarrassed, Crowley thought? Or disappointed.

"Nevertheless it is pleasing to learn some new strange pastime of the mortal world with him," he added. "He is a good teacher." Crowley kind of felt for him. It must be strange to be the mentee for once in your life and not a soldier or an order giver. 

Crowley found himself leaning forward, almost wanting to comfort him about the whole nebulous thing. It was a weird feeling, but he wasn't one to lie to himself. "He must like it there; they have everything, right? It's called paradise for a reason, I assume. Everything made of gold, the best of it all?" But Castiel was shaking his head, almost somberly. It took Crowley aback somehow. 

"He doesn't care for those things; none of the saints do. I had given him some things before that I thought mortals cared for"--what, frankincense and myrrh with some gold bars on the side, Crowley thought--"but he never seemed like he wanted that. He said thank you, though." And Castiel looked up at him with this trace of wanting approval, or confirmation, and he found himself providing it, rushing to reassure him. 

"Of course he liked it, he's a mortal. He probably didn't want to seem greedy or something non-heaven appropriate, especially in front of you, that's all." It seemed to work; Castiel looked a little relieved. And he had to know...

"What did you get him?" He ventured the question hesitantly. 

To his surprise, Castiel told him readily. "Some flowers from the Garden, some of the best jewels in the fountain, and I said I would go golfing with him again." He blinked at him. "What?"

It was either roll his eyes or stare, so Crowley stared at him. "I don't even know what he's supposed to take from that, much less what you mean by it," he said.

Castiel looked affronted, and sat up straighter; he realized then that he'd been slouching a little against the chair back, something he never did. "It meant he is my friend; and respect, and thankfulness." He finished with a tone that seemed a little bit defeated, and Crowley felt for him. He knew he hadn't gotten his message across well. 

"Why don't I help you pick out something better?" he suggested, and Castiel rearranged his face to mean something like pleasure. For once, Crowley felt happy; the real kind that comes from inside and not from things and deaths and power.


End file.
